Bloodlines
by OP J Hunter
Summary: OP Jason Hunter recieves a disc from Luke Skywalker with information about his heritage incrypted, Jason seeks the help of an older Trianii female with a mysterious past, and together they uncover thier past.
1. Chapter 1

**Bloodlines**

**A Dark Brotherhood FanFiction by Obelisk Prelate Jason Hunter**

**(Note: I do not claim ownership to starwars related items. All names and things in likeness to anything is purely coincidental. This is a hobby that I enjoy doing.)**

**Chapter One**

Images flashed through his mind. Old memories flooded back, threatening to destroy the peaceful state of his meditation. They were of hardships endured, painful recollections of death and agony, and the loss of allies that he had just begun to know.

It had been a mission that promised to be simple, but had, as most plans do, gone awry. The team that he became a member of had been sent out into the tundra to investigate an odd distress signal that the House's sensors had detected. It began simply enough, being dropped of at the foot of the snow-bound mountains, leaving them to trudge the rest of the way through the beginnings of a blizzard that was settling over Castle Byfrost. Soon, though, they had found the structure they were looking for, and found the origins and cause of the signal. However, they had also uncovered a ploy by the Jedi to destroy them, and had to do battle with countless Clone War-era battle droids, several Jedi, and even a chance encounter with the Skywalkers.

Adam Anderson, an Archpriest of the Krath Order, had a deep hatred for Luke and Mara Skywalker. He hated Luke for his actions that led to the downfall of the Galactic Empire, and loathed Mara for turning her back on the Emperor, a man that she had vowed to protect. Reason had failed to sway Adam from his vengeance, and he had been struck down by Mara Jade in the lone battle he had waged against the duo. The resulting Force wave had been felt throughout the group, and even back at Byfrost.

Jason Hunter, the man thinking these thoughts, opened his eyes. Adam's death had affected him greatly, he reflected. He took a deep breath to clear the last vestiges of his meditative nightmare from his head, and rose to his feet. Looking across his tiny and Spartan room, he eyed the datacard that rested on his small desk. It had been a gift from Luke Skywalker, on that fated mission. He still didn't know what the disk contained, but it must be important, for it came with the warning to not allow others to view its contents.

_What kind of information, no matter how important, would Luke Skywalker share with me? _He thought. Jason had spent a small amount of time training at Skywalker's Jedi Academy, but he had withdrawn under unfavorable circumstances. _I'd have thought, given that bit of information, that he wouldn't have done something like that. Just goes to show that you can't trust everything you hear._

Taking a seat in the chair that sat before the desk, Jason reached out and took hold of the disk. Peering at it for a few moments, he sighed heavily and inserted it into the slot on the side of his computer terminal. Almost immediately, a window popped open, presenting him with the contents of the disk. On it was a single file, unnamed, and fairly large. Looking at the file extension, he recognized the file type as being a holographic video. Clicking on it, he waited a moment as the outdated holoprojecter whirred to life.

Springing into existence was a miniaturized image of Luke Skywalker, swathed in the black robes that he was so fond of wearing. Although relatively young, there was no doubt in Jason's mind that, given the hard lines and weathered quality of his skin, Luke had been through many trials in his time as a Jedi.

"Greetings, Jason Hunter," the Tattooinian said, a slight smile gracing his lips. "I know that the mere existence of this disk, let alone the fact that I presented it to you, must come as a shock."

"You can say that again," Jason mumbled, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"However," the hologram continued, undeterred by Jason's unheard comment. "The information I am sharing with you will come to be an even greater one. You might want to be sitting down, and I'd recommend calming yourself.

"Even here on Yavin, word of the exploits of Corellian Jedi, no matter what their alignment, reaches my ears. So, I did some digging through old Republic, Empire, and Jedi records, to find any mention of your family name, and to see where in Jedi lineage you lie. It started as a mild curiosity, not attempting to invade your privacy, trust me. But, the deeper I went the more interesting information I found.

"I recall, when you trained here, that you had mentioned a childhood grudge against one of my other students, Corran Horn. Well, through my file slicing, it appears that you two have a lot more in common that just merely being Corellian. It seems that, somewhere further back along your blood lines, your family trees used to connect."

This set Jason aback. He paused the hologram, at just the right moment to leave Skywalker with an unintelligent expression on his face. "Holy Sithspit," he muttered. "Horn and I are _related_? Great..."

"'How can this be?' is what you're asking yourself, I'm sure," the Jedi continued after Jason un-paused him. "This hologram file is also programed to download all my findings to your terminal upon you viewing it. At the end of this video, you will find those files in a special folder on your desktop, for you to look over at your leisure.

"Let me offer you a bit of experienced advice: don't react too quickly to discovering your previously hidden and secret bloodlines. When I learned that my father was Darth Vader, I flung myself down an exhaust shaft on Bespin. So, for your sake and that of others, sit back, calm yourself, and center yourself in the Force; it will confirm for you, whether I'm right or not.

"Farewell, Jason Hunter. May the Force be with you."

Jason had to sit back again as Luke Skywalker's hologram fizzled out, and a red light began to blink on the terminal, to indicate that files were being downloaded. He let his head to roll back and stared up at the ceiling, suddenly lost in thought. Intellectually, he surmised that he shouldn't trust the Jedi Master, because the teachings of the Brotherhood say that the Light Side is evil and the Jedi are not to be believed, for they are deceitful. Not to mention that he hardly knew the man from Tattooine that saved the galaxy from the Empire.

But, deep inside, he knew what Luke said to be the truth. As shocking as it was, as unexpected a turn this may have brought to his life...it was true. That calm center that Luke had taught him to find wouldn't lie to him.

An impatient tone sounded, rousing Jason from his musings. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned his attention back to the terminal, which had finished its' download about fifteen minutes before.

_So lost in my thoughts, I didn't even notice,_ he thought, tapping on the touchscreen to open one of the files. It was a pictogram of the known Halcyon family, with Corran Horn at the bottom of the right side, and connecting itself through Hal Horn, his father, to Nejaa Halcyon, his biological grandfather, and up through a handful more generations. There was a notation to the side of the Halcyon family tree, which read:

'**This was all I could find of the Halcyon family, in the records at the**

**Jedi Museum on Coruscant. The names to the left, which branch off**

**sharply, were compiled with this list from data obtained**

**from Rostek Horn, Corran's adoptive grandfather.'**

True to Luke's word, there was a smaller branch, that separated itself from the rest of the tree up around the name of Keiran Halcyon, which Jason knew to be the name of one of Horn's Jedi ancestors. Instead of a name being affixed to this branch, it simply read 'Brother,' as if Luke couldn't find the name of this forgotten Jedi. From there, it came down and connected with names that he did know: Jason's grandfather, who served the Corellian military well before the Clone Wars; then his Father, Vag, who was shot to death in the warehouse in which he worked. There had been a shoot-out between a garrison of Stormtroopers and Rebel agents, towards the end of the Galactic Civil War, and Jason's father got caught in the crossfire. At first, he had thought the Rebels were at fault, but, while serving as an officer/pilot for the Imperial Navy, he came to learn that neither side knew of the hapless civilian stuck in the middle.

Finally, the end of that branch came to his own name. He wasn't entirely sure he should trust the data that was laid out before him, and stick to what he knew of his family history...which wasn't, admittedly, much.

_Luke's a Jedi,_ he thought to himself, removing the datacard from the reader and turning it over in his hand for a few moments. _When I trained with him for that short week, he gave me no indication of being untrustworthy. _

Looking up at the chronometer over his head, Jason let out a deep, resigned sigh. He then stood and crossed over to his small closet and, removing a duffel, stuffed a couple pairs of fight-worthy clothes inside. With his packing complete, he slid his legs into a pair of durable, denim-blue pants. He then pulled a tight-fitting, dark purple t-shirt on over his head, completing his ensemble with his usual pair of black boots.

Clipping his lightsaber to his belt and snapping his handgun into its harness-style holster, he turned off the lights and left his quarters.

(please read Chapter Two!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**(please refer to diclaimer on Ch.1 OP JHunter)**

The old Corellian freighter dropped out of hyperspace, leaving the entrancing blue swirls behind. Once the confusing star lines transformed once more into the distinct points of light, the blue and green orb of Corellia came into view. It had been a few years since his last visit to his homeworld, and the widely un-urbanized expanses of the planet were a welcoming sight to him.

The last time he had seen Corellia from space, he had been piloting his TIE Defender. This time, however, he was behind the controls of a YT-1300, a freighter built in the shipyards that orbited the world. He had borrowed it from the stock of ships that Tarentum kept on hand. Instead of making the appearance that he had last time and drawing unwanted attention to himself, he had opted for a nondescript, run-of-the-mill freighter, so that he could slip in under the guise of yet another star pilot seeking refuge on Corellia. He did have his TIE with him, though: it was strapped into an expanded section of the cargo hold, built specially by the technicians in Castle Tarentum. In a pinch, he could deploy himself in the agile Imperial starfighter, to either make a quick get-away or to fight off whatever pursuit he might find.

He wasn't a big fan of the ship's layout, with the cockpit situated off to starboard. It was something that he was just going to have to deal with, though, if he was to keep some modicum of anonymity. The freighter was quick, though bulky, and he never knew if he'd have to make use of the cargo and living spaces.

Once he was closer to the world, he flipped the switch that began blinking at him, indicating that he was receiving an incoming transmission.

"Corellian freighter, state your business," the masculine voice of the traffic controller said, made tinny by the outdated communications package.

"_Bantha Herder_ to control," Jason responded, keying the headset mike he wore. "Just coming for a pleasure trip."

"Control to _Bantha_, transmit your ships manifest." Jason did as requested, sending the small document down the invisible comm line. "Copy receipt, _Bantha Herder_...you are clear to land at Tyrena spaceport, docking stall 23-4. Have a nice stay on Corellia."

"Roger, Control..._Bantha Herder_ out." He then closed the link, severing contact to the surface and leaving him in the relative silence of the cockpit again. Jason angled the ship towards Corellia, heading towards the coordinates the homing beacon provided him. Within moments, the ship turned into a fireball, the friction of entering the atmosphere buffeting the freighter as it descended towards the surface. It only took about a minute for the flames to die off, and he was soaring effortlessly through the clear air.

The Tyrena spaceport came into view, situated near one of Corellia's expansive seas. Having been a youth in Coronet, and never really came home after leaving, Jason had never been to Tyrena before. He knew where it was in relation to Coronet, and its significance as far as spaceports were concerned.

The beacon lead him down to his allocated docking stall, and, kicking the repulsorlifts to life, he settled the ship down on the black duracrete. Flipping all sorts of switches and toggles, he powered the generator down, but left the security systems online, and the engines and weapons warm but powered-down. Leaving the stiff pilots chair, Jason headed aft towards the crew quarters. He entered one of the small rooms, and checked himself in the mirror.

He had never really worn the robes that the Brotherhood supplied him, and this time was no different. He was decked-out in clothes more suited to the smuggler persona he was attempting to create, with his long hair tied back, the pony tail sticking out the back of the dirty cap he wore. On top of his dark purple shirt he had a dingy, Han Solo-esque jacket that concealed his handgun and lightsaber, and a pair of horribly worn-in, dingy pair of tan nerf hide pants, the supple leather worn at the knees and buttocks. The only thing that seemed "new" in the whole ensemble were his boots, which had the bottoms of the pants tucked into them.

Taking one last look to make sure his gun was full of bullets and that his lightsaber was tucked away so no one could see it, he tossed his duffel over his shoulder and trod down the lowered ramp and into the bright Corellian sunlight. He pulled a pair of dark sunglasses from an inside pocket in the jacket and placed them on his face, protecting his eyes from the glaring light. Looking around, he took in the layout of the spaceport in a series of quick glances. There were a few other freighters nearby, but that particular section of the port seemed largely unpopulated.

_Good,_ Jason thought as he slapped the switch on the underside of the hull that raised the ramp again. It slid up into the fuselage silently, giving a dull _thunk_ when it stopped and the locks engaged. _I don't need anyone getting all suspicious in here._

Before heading for the exit, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the familiar air of Corellia. A complacent grin came to his lips as he reached into a pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He stuck the filtered end of the cigarette between his lips, and took a couple of puffs to get it lit by the fire that he produced from the worn, metal lighter. Taking a deep drag, he inhaled the smoke and held it, and, as he let it slowly drift out of his mouth, he allowed himself to open up to the Force, its familiar and reassuring power permeating every fiber of his body.

Holding the butt of his cigarette between his lips, Jason repositioned the duffel on his shoulder and started for the customs kiosk. He would have much rather just avoided all the formalities of landing on Corellia, but he had to bite his tongue and do as the law dictated, so that he didn't draw that unwanted attention.

The female Twi'lek at the kiosk looked horribly bored, her lithe frame slouched in her chair and her eyelids appearing too heavy to keep open. The clicking of Jason's boots hitting the pavement must have caught her attention, though, for she turned an eye towards him and immediately jumped to her feet.

"Welcome to Tyrena Spaceport, sir!" she exclaimed, a little happily for Jason's liking.

"Slow day, eh?" he replied, sending her a lopsided grin.

"Oh, you have no idea," the woman said, slumping back down into her chair and grabbing a nearby datapad off the desk. "Please, sir, put your bag on the table and walk through the scanner."

Jason did as instructed, setting his duffel down on the desk in front of the Twi'lek, and took the couple paces forward to walk through the scanner. As he passed through the metal rectangle, he sought out the particular wavelengths the scanner used to detect weapons and other undesirable items, and, by virtue of his training in the Force, found them and moved them subtly around the distinct signatures of his slugthrower and lightsaber.

"All right, you're clean," the Twi'lek said once Jason had passed through the bio scanner. "And so is your bag. Have a nice stay in Tyrena."

Jason thanked the woman, procuring his duffel and putting it back over his shoulder before exiting the kiosk. A few minutes more of walking, and he found himself in the busy streets of the city surrounding the otherwise slight spaceport.

"So this is Tyrena," he muttered to himself, looking around. "Eh, Coronet would kick its ass in an instant." Setting off towards the east, he head in the direction of what he knew to be the location of a nearby speeder rental operation. Walking across a road, he meandered his way through a simple, grid-like city block, and came upon the dealership. It had speeders of all shapes, sizes, makes and colors sitting outside, lined up in compact rows, but with enough space between to allow any speeder to be boarded and driven away.

The Dark Jedi in him told him, as he set foot on the black duracrete of the lot, to just jump in the fastest, most flashy vehicle, hot-wire it and just drive away. But, the sensible, Light Jedi side of him told him to do things the legal and right way.

_A compromise, then_, he thought, as a portly, middle-aged human male in a casual suit started his way. _And here comes the salesman_

"Welcome!" the man beamed, his aging face twisting into a oversized smile. It was obvious he was trying a mite too hard to be friendly, but Jason just returned the favor and greeted him with a firm handshake. "What can I do for ya?" he asked, shaking the Obelisk's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm looking to rent one of your fine speeders," Jason replied, snaking slender tendrils of the Force into the man's mind, weakening his trained salesman defenses, and making Jason appear to be the friendliest customer to have ever existed.

"Well, come right this way, and I'll show you what we've got." The salesman led Jason through the lot, pointing to the speeders he had for rent and sale. After winding through three different aisles, Jason had decided he'd seen enough, and turned back towards a hot, fire-engine red sports speeder they had passed in the first row.

"What about that gee-tee back there?" he inquired, pouring the Force into the man's head, making him think that he could just about give it away to him.

"Yeah, I've had my eye on that one myself," he replied, smiling broadly. "Tell ya what...I'll go get the keys. You can take it for a test drive, and if you don't come back, well...let's just say that it never happened." A sly grin crossed his lips then.

"How 'bout that, eh? Sounds good to me," Jason said, grinning back just as slyly. _Man, I love the Force sometimes. Well...all the time, really._

"Alright, back in a minute." The rotund human bounded off towards the sales office, retreating into the building only to return a few moments later with a set of keys. He came back up to Jason, who had crossed over towards the speeder he was about to "borrow," and handed the young Corellian the keys.

"There ya go, buddy," he said, his breath coming harder than before. He must have run all the way into his office. "Take her easy, okay? And tell your friends about Psycho Sam'ia's, Home of the Whammer Deal!"

"Ok, will do," Jason responded, once again having to endure another of the weak-minded salesman's over-enthused hand shakes.

Climbing into the driver's seat, Jason took inserted the key into the appropriate slot and turned it, turning the engine over, and being rewarded with a deep, throaty exhaust. He gave the accelerator a couple of quick taps, and the engine responded instantly. A confident smirk gracing his lips, Jason popped the manual transmission into its first gear, gave a quick wave to the salesman, and took off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**(please refer to Ch.1 for disclaimer! OP JHunter)**

It was an hour later when Jason reached Coronet. By that time, the sun had begun to set, casting the otherwise white clouds in the otherwise blue sky with tints of pink and orange. It was a beautiful sight that he hadn't been able to take in since his adolescence, and he suddenly realized how much he actually missed being there.

Reaching out into the Force, Jason stretched his awareness as far as it would go, searching out pockets of suffering, the local authorities, and just getting a general feel for Coronet's current emotional and political state. As he entered the city proper, shooting down the highway between the massive skyscrapers that made Coronet the largest city on Corellia, he felt that, by and far, nothing untoward was occurring in the city. There were the usual grief of loss, the anger of misfortune...and, of course, the multi-emotional suffering of wherever his old gang was located or heading through.

Deciding to play peacekeeper, and just keep and eye on his old "friends," Jason angled his hotrod towards the exit he knew would take him into the heart of central Coronet. Usually, the central sections of any large city were the most dangerous, especially the southern half of it, and Coronet was no different. His gang's old territory was located down there, constantly waging turf wars with other gangs in the area. When he was still in that circle of "friends," the gang usually held tenuous stalemates with the other groups. He had heard, though, that after his departure, formerly quiet and subdued individuals began to speak up and push for the expansion of their territory.

On his last visit, Jason had slain Valut, the Keldor leader of the gang. Since then, he had no idea what tyrant had risen to power, and, thus, didn't know the current disposition of the gang as a collective.

_Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to find out._ Indeed, Jason had just turned a corner down a street that was firmly inside his old territory, as easily evidenced by the prolific graffiti that dotted fences, building sides and city mail boxes.

Traveling a little further down the road, his danger sense began to tingle up his spine. Sure enough, fifteen meters ahead, a mixed-race group of about ten beings began to meander their way into his path. They wore ragged clothes, with hoods pulled up over their heads. He spotted a couple Rodians, their green snouts jutting out of the shadows of their hoods. They all carried some sort of crude melee weapon in their dominate hands, trying to hide it behind the protective concealment of their dark clothing, but failing horribly at it.

Jason brought his speeder to a slow, gradual stop before them, leaning back in the seat and putting his arm over the top of the door in a confident manner. His assailants fanned out before him, with a burly male Weequay stepping out in front.

"That's a nice, shiny speeder you got there," he said in broken Basic, showing Jason the metal pipe he held as he absently tapped it against the open palm of his empty hand. "We wouldn't want anything to happen to such a pretty machine, rich boy. So, it'd be best if you gave us some...incentive, to let you through."

"And if I don't?" Jason replied cooly, a smug grin gracing his lips. He didn't adjust his posture any, and radiated confidence into the Force. He knew full well that this would devolve into a brawl, and he wasn't feeling any inclination to change that.

"Well, we'll just have to take the price out of your hide, boy," the Weequay shot back, heading towards the nose of the speeder. He must have thought differently of his tactic, because, half-way there, he adjusted his course to come up alongside Jason's side of the vehicle. He kept rapping his pipe against his opposite palm, trying his best to be intimidating.

"I'd think twice about being a hero, 'pal'," the alien said once he came up to Jason, now resting the pipe against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm a full-blooded Corellian," Jason said, letting his attention drift away from the Weequay. He swept his gaze across the other nine people, his trained warrior's senses taking stock of their stances, what weapons they carried, and what emotions they flooded the Force with. "As such," he continued, making a show of looking at the fingernails of his right hand, "you might have to beat that into my dense head."

The Weequay needed no further prodding. The pipe came off the shoulder, plummeting towards the apex of Jason's skull. The instant before it would have connected, Jason's hand flashed out and caught the weapon, twisting it away from the creature's grasp and tossing it nonchalantly towards the other side of the street. This enraged the Weequay, and he quickly came at Jason with a left hook.

The Jedi leaned his head back, letting the meaty fist sail past barely five centimeters from the tip of his nose. As shock registered on the Weequay's leathery features, Jason quickly open the door, smashing it into his foe's knees. The gangster toppled over the top of the door, landing face-first into the duracrete pavement as Jason somersaulted out of his seat. Given how the Weequay's head smacked against the ground, he surmised that he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

By this time, the other gang members realized what had happened, and had begun charging towards Jason. He met them part-way, surprising them with his speed, and drove his right knee into the rib cage of the human male that he came to first. The man's breath left his lungs quite audibly, as he doubled over Jason's leg and dropped to the pavement.

Jason dropped one of the Rodians with a powerful left-handed punch to the forehead, and took out his buddy with a sweeping roundhouse. Both fell in unconscious lumps, leaving only six fighters to contend with. A Gotal came at him with a long length of chain, swinging it towards Jason's ankles in an attempt to sweep his feet from under him. Jason sidestepped the attack, and drove the heel of his boot into the alien's already squashed face. Blood dribbled down from a broken nose as he, too, tumbled to the ground.

_Better bring this to an end before they call into the calvary_, Jason thought, reaching behind him to draw his lightsaber. Once the glinting hilt of his customary weapon came into full sight, the last half of the assailants came to an abrupt halt, their faces turning ashen with fear and their assorted weapons succumbing to gravity and falling to the pavement. They all turned and bolted from the scene, disappearing into the murky shadows of alleyways and overpasses.

"Hey, wait!" Jason called after them. "I just need directions! Oh, screw it..." He sighed resignedly, taking stock of the damage he had done around him. Five beings lay at his feet, all knocked out cold, and bleeding from their faces. The Weequay was the first to stagger back to his feet, and the next to flee.

"Not so fast, pal," Jason said, reaching out and grabbing the back of the Weequay's shirt with an invisible fist of the Force. He levitated the alien off the ground, leaving his legs rotating futilely in the air. Fearful whimpers escaped the Weequay's throat as Jason floated him backwards. Once the alien was close enough, he spun him around and looked into the Weequay's inhuman eyes.

"Take me to you leader."

The scene that Jason's eyes relayed to his frontal cortex was familiar to him. It was the same wide alleyway that his former gang had always used as their "headquarters," but it had changed in some subtle, and yet drastic ways. No longer was it adorned with piles of forgotten refuse that used to line the walls, and many of the old drums that used to house fires were gone. Now, most of the lighting was given off by lit sconces that were set equidistant from each other along the walls, replacing the spotty and flickering illumination of ramshackle overhead lights and the fire drums. Even the vagrants that so populated this "safe haven" seemed to be cleaner and more composed, as if they had all suddenly gained self-respect and inherited some credits.

But what really caught his eye was what was situated at the far end of alley. There used to be an old leather chair there, worn and torn by misuse, that was raised up on a handful of shipping crates. There would sit the leader, the King Pin of the gang, like some ruling king. Jason had seen many different people sit in that chair, and had even lusted after its' power in his younger days. Now, the old throne was gone, and in its' place was a much cleaner, and obviously newer, chair that was more befitting the individual that sat reclined in its' nerf hide caress.

She was Trianii, that much was obvious. But, what troubled Jason, was what a member of a usually very matriarchal society was doing leading a common gang of thieves and hoodlums. She would probably have been much more at home, in the Trian System, as the head of a House or such things. However, there she sat, her thin, lithe body dressed in a clean and well-kept dress of a cut he didn't recognize, with a sort of cloak thrown over her shoulders that draped off the edge of the chair like a dark curtain. She was sitting in a reclined position, her feline legs crossed and hung over the arm of the chair. It was a position that exuded both command and control, and yet a sense of calm welcoming to whatever came her direction. Her amber, slit-pupil eyes peered at him from under the black bangs of her hair, dancing in the fire light of the sconces around her. For a moment there was a touch through the Force, but as quickly as it came it was gone.

_What the kriff was that?_ Jason's emerald eyes narrowed slightly, only perceptible by the likes of Boba Fett and others trained to look for such minute muscle twitches. _I swear that brush came from that Trianii...but, I don't feel any real affinity for the Force from her._ After a few seconds debate, he stretched outward with his feelings, sending a handful of probing tentacles of the Force towards the Trianii in that big chair.

Almost immediately, his probes were thrown off violently, with a great push of mental effort. _So, you can use the Force...albeit limited_. Those cat eyes narrowed dangerously at Jason as he approached, his previous pretenses of caution now nonexistent. He could feel animosity and suspicion rolling off her in waves, as he came to within a couple strides of her. He simply stood there, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket and peering into her eyes.

"So, I see you've cleaned this place up a bit," he said.

"Of course," the cat replied, her voice carrying a sultry tint to it. She twisted in the seat some, bringing herself to look Jason straight-on, her wrapped feet now resting on the pavement. He noted idly that her feet were digitigrade, which would mean that, with her weight on her toes, she would be able to spring off quickly.

"A lot better looking than when I was hanging here," Jason continued, taking a glance around.

"I know. I've heard about you, Jason Hunter. You left here years ago in a stolen Z-95 with Alexi Vonelv shortly after your father was slain."

"I see you keep up on the local history," he said, smiling approvingly. "But don't worry, I'm just swinging through on some personal business."

"I'm sure." She then rose from her seat, standing almost as tall as Jason did. "My name is Onna Alias. As I'm sure you gathered, I lead this lovely organization."

"I figured as much. So, still running with looting and vandalism, or have you increased the operation to include raping and harassing the elderly?"

Onna snickered a little with amusement, a small smile coming to her lips. "I also heard that you had a matter-of-fact sense of humor. I can respect that. I've also heard that you're quite the able fighter, and that you helped push the boundaries of our territory."

"Well, I don't like sounding too bold," said Jason, shrugging nonchalantly. "But, I've won my fair share of fights. And those goons you had as a welcoming committee didn't prove too much of a problem."

Onna Alias chuckled lightly, stepping off her small pedestal and approaching Jason. "Yes, as I have also heard. Ston, the Weequay who brought you here, relayed that much to me." Jason remembered idly that the alien he had apprehended had left him at the mouth of the alley and made a quick approach to Onna's throne.

"Given your history with this illustrious gang, why don't you come join me in my private room? I would wish to speak with you." She gave Jason no time to respond, immediately turning and heading for a door towards the back of the alley. He shrugged slightly, and decided to follow. _I don't think I have much to worry about from her. She doesn't seem too dangerous._

He was lead through the door, which was wooden and showed signs of its' rough usage, and into the small hallway beyond. It was more brightly lit than he had originally expected, and staircase lead up to the higher levels of the building.

"I remember this place," Jason said, taking a look around at all the old graffiti on the permacrete walls. "We never really used it too much, except as a warehouse were we stockpiled what we stole, and what weapons we had gotten our illegal little hands on."

"We've since converted it," Onna replied, not even turning to look over her shoulder at her visitor. They climbed a long series of stairs, ascending to what was probably the top floor of the building–which it only had three stories–and the Trianii inserted an old key into the lock of the door that they came too. She turned it a couple times, and opened the door into a spacious room. It was obviously a loft, as Jason could see a small balcony at the opposite side of the room, beyond a transparasteel sliding door.

"Nice place you've got here," said Jason, looking around. There was a desk at one side, which was apparently were Onna dealt with the business of running the gang. It had few adornments, the top surface being largely uncluttered. At the opposite side of the room, there was a large, comfortable-looking couch with a handful of pillows tossed about it. Near that, behind a curtain that was pulled haphazardly to the side, he could see a bed that he assumed was Onna's. In the middle of the room, there was a big rug that took up almost the entire empty space.

"Thank you, I try," replied Onna, crossing to a small table with a few bottles of alcohol sitting on it. "Care for a drink?"

"Sure. I'll take a glass of Whyren's Reserve, if you've got it."

"Of course. That's one of our most sought-after trophies." She plucked a couple of glasses from a cupboard underneath the table, and poured a liberal amount of the amber liquid into both. Jason noticed that her hands–_paws_, really–moved with a smooth deftness that belied her prowess in combat.

_She's definately an agile one,_ he thought, moving to meet her half-way and taking the proffered drink. He took a deep sip of the whiskey, Corellia's finest, and basked in the rich, savory task as it washed over his tongue. It had been quite a while since he had enjoyed a snifter of his favorite beverage.

"Would you mind if I had a smoke with this whiskey?" he asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from one of his jacket's inside pockets.

"No, of course not. I was about to have one myself." Onna picked up a pack of her own from her desk, and a lighter, too. "I see that we have similar tastes," she said as she lit both of their cigarettes. Jason nodded his appreciation, and took a look out the long window to his left. He spied an ashtray sitting on the banister.

"Mind if we go outside?" Onna nodded, and lead the way outside. Jason took a deep drag off the end of his cigarette, or "death stick" as they so lovingly referred, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He had most certainly felt the Force move through her, and didn't quite know how to react to that. Normally, as far as usual Brotherhood operations went, was that if he came across another user of the Force, he would simply cut them down. But, this woman didn't carry a dangerous air about her, and didn't seem inclined to attack him. Not to mention that her powers were really limited. As if she had once been powerful, but then, suddenly, forgot how to use them.

However, she beat him to the punch. "What brings you back to Coronet?"

"Business," he replied, taking off his ratty cap and stuffing it into a back pocket.

"Personal or professional?"

"Personal. But, I don't feel like sharing too much about that."

"Can't say I blame you." Suddenly, the commanding attitude she had carried before had evaporated, left with a sense of world-weary contentedness. "Trust isn't what it used to be, especially around here. What, with Sal-Solo being president and all."

"Yeah, I've heard about him," Jason replied, joining Onna to lean against the railing. He took another drag and flicked the ashes over the side of the building. "Related to Han Solo, right? Cousin, or something like that?"

"Cousin indeed. Though, for as untrustworthy as Solo had been during his smuggling days, his cousin is much more so. I don't know how he got elected in the first place."

The conversation went silent for a minute or so, both of them looking out at the Corellian night over the tops of the surrounding buildings. Jason finished his cigarette before Onna and lit himself another before taking a sip of his whiskey.

"So..." he began, still trying to gather his thoughts. "Just out of curiosity, what do you know about the Force?" This startled Onna for a moment. He would never have known, however, without the aid of the Force, because her posture didn't show any reaction to his question.

"Are you a philosopher of some sort?" she asked, finishing her smoke and flicking the butt out into the street below. She quickly drained the contents of her glass and set it on a small, low-sitting table behind her.

"Of some sort," Jason replied, turning to face her. "I only ask because I felt something...peculiar back in the alley."

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" Onna asked, her voice low and dangerous as she turned an angry look on Jason.

"After a fashion," he responded. He had an internal debate about showing her his lightsaber, and decided that it might be an interesting conversation piece, if anything. "But, not of the same stream that Luke Skywalker churns out on Yavin. I hail to a different calling."

"So, a Sith then." Onna's voice was only minutely less suspicious than before, but not a whole lot.

"Not precisely." Jason reached behind him and pulled his lightsaber from its' secret hiding place on his back, and watched Onna recoil visibly at the sight of his weapon. "Don't worry, I'm not going to decapitate you. I am Jason Hunter, Prelate of the Obelisk Order of the Brotherhood of Dark Jedi. I do, however, disagree with a few key teachings of my fellows, especially with those who use the Force to strike down random people who look at them funny. I may be a Dark Jedi, but I'm one of the nicer ones."

"Good to hear." Her voice was a little shaky now, still unnerved at the sight of a lightsaber. However, a split-second later, she regained control of herself and became much more calm. "I guess you were right in asking what I know of the Force. But, I don't want to talk about this in the open, so I think we should go back indoors."

"Probably a good idea," Jason agreed, quickly hiding his lightsaber in one of his jacket pockets. He cast a cursory glance at the buildings around them, probing outwards with his senses, but didn't feel anyone watching or listening to them. He took a drag from his cigarette and followed his feline escort back inside.

"I can feel the flow of the Force," Onna said, once she had closed the door behind them. "But, I don't know why, and I can't really use it too well. It's almost like I used to be a Jedi, but the power was violently stripped from me years ago...almost more like I _forgot_ how to use the Force."

Her statement went along with he had already felt from her: an almost endless well of potential, but a very limited grasp of it. As if the Force was water that filled up a massive physical well, but the rope that held the bucket that was used to remove it was too short.

"I agree. I can feel that much from you. I can't say that I know what it's like, but I can say that I offer my services to help you find it again. I'm not against helping fellow Force-sensitives find their way to the Force. Just so long as they use that power for, at least mostly, unselfish reasons."

"You don't sound like the typical Dark Jedi," Onna said, smiling again with some amusement.

"I used to be," Jason replied, taking his lightsaber out of the pocket and looking at it. "But, I spent a bit of time at Skywalker's Academy, and learned new things. I now take a much wider look at the Force. To me, it's not polarized like the Jedi preach it is. The Force can be used for evil, as much as it can be used for good. 'Dark' and 'Light' are merely the limitations that we, as sentient beings, put to it."

"Interesting philosophy."

"I spend some time studying the different schools of Force usage."

"So, why are you _really_ here?"

"I come seeking answers to a heritage that I had never known about before. Skywalker gave me a disk with some...uh, _interesting_ information on it."

"I see." Onna began to pace a little, and apparently decided that she needed another drink. She poured herself another glass of Whyren's Reserve and took a couple of sips before turning back to Jason. "I want to come with you."

This took him as a surprise. He could feel his eyes widening with the shock. "Why?"

"Because I don't know _anything_ about my past, and I desperately want to find out why, and what I did before I lost my memory."

"So...you've got some amnesia, or something?"

"That's what I'm told," she said, walking back to Jason. She swirled the whiskey around the glass, looking at it with a kind of interest. "I feel echoes of it, though. Like, before I lost my memory, my life was marked by a darkness, and that my last moments of _knowing_ were anguish and fear. And I want to know why. Maybe...we can help each other learn about our pasts?"

"I have no issue with that," Jason responded, nodding slightly. _What am I getting myself into?_ His mind flashed with a series of possible outcomes for this partnership, but they all came down to, simply, that this is what the Force willed it to be.

"Good." Her feline lips curled with a smile. "Shall we start in the morning, then?"

"The morning it is. I'll be back at around oh-seven-hundred, and we'll head over to my father's house."

"Where are you going to stay?" she inquired.

"I was just going to go curl up in my speeder."

"No, I can't have that. You'll stay here tonight."

"What, in the warehouse? Another room?"

"No, in here. Will you be alright on the couch?"

"Oh, absolutely. I don't want to impose, though."

"Oh, no problem." Onna then turned and went to a small cabinet and removed a couple of blankets. When she returned, she handed them to Jason. "After all, if we're going to being working together, we might as well learn how to live with each other, right?"

"Right," said Jason, taking the blankets and looking over at the long couch against a wall. "Well, start our mutual search in the morning then."

"Yes, I look forward to it."

(well that is it fr now, I will have the next chapter posted soon! Please read and review!

And if you would like o visit the website I have on my profile, enter the # 974 to view my Dossier! The Dark-Side welcomes you...)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The speeder came around the bend, taking the corner easily at high speed. It was definately designed for that kind of driving, and Jason was enjoying pushing the machine to its' limits. It had been quite a while since he'd driven, so he was quickly having to relearn how to maneuver a street vehicle, instead of the twisting and winding tactics that he used to in a starfighter.

"Getting close," he said, whipping around a left turn and entering a neighborhood. Even though he hadn't seen his childhood residence in almost ten years, he was navigating his way there by pure instinct and muscle memory.

The road narrowed from a four-lane thoroughfare into a more respectable two-lane residential street. With the sun having just crested over the mountains, people were just now waking to their daily lives. A few houses they passed–Jason and Onna–already had the husbands outside, picking up the morning paper in their pajamas, or getting into their own speeders to go to work. Half of them cast disdainful looks their direction, apparently wondering what a couple of young hoodlums were doing, blazing through their neighborhood at that time of the morning.

_This place hasn't changed much_, Jason thought, looking around as he slowed the speeder a bit. He knew that he was getting close to his former home, and he wanted to approach it slowly, as if to extend the suspense like his life was being written at that very moment.

"There it is," he said to Onna, coming to a stop on the street outside a condemned house. It wasn't condemned when he left, of course, but ten years of not being occupied or cared for would cause the local government to declare it unlivable. It was almost a wonder that it still stood, and hadn't been removed to make space for a new home.

"So, your childhood home," said Onna, taking in the warped and faded siding, sagging roof, and decrepit porch. "I'm sure it looked much better back then."

"Oh yeah, of course," he replied, climbing out of the speeder and moving up the driveway towards the house. It was a modest split-level home, with a small flight of steps leading up to the front door. Which, of course, hung awkwardly on broken hinges. The yellow paint of the house had faded to a dull shade of goldenrod, and most of the windows–especially the bay window that looked into the upstairs living room–had been broken by what he could only guess as being hurled stones. "It looked a lot better."

Jason came up to the garage door, which still, amazingly, stood almost as if time had past it by. It bore the mark of graffiti, though. He idly took notice that Onna stood behind him, looking at his old house with a passive interest. He took hold of the metal handle on the door and, with the aid of the Force, gave it a great upward heave. He strained against it, as the old electronic opener pressed against his effort, but it finally gave way with a loud crashing noise from inside. The door ground open, revealing the messy innards.

When they had moved in, his father had stacked box upon box of their belongings inside, and had neglected to finish unpacking them all. And there they had stood, for almost thirty years now, as they had when Jason left Corellia behind. Now, though, all those boxes were covered in the ancient remnants of webs, crafted by small vampiric insects when the garage had not been accessed for a while.

"Messy in here," Onna commented, taking a step inside. She ran her hand over the old standing freezer next to the door and looked at the pounds of dust that came off it.

"Yeah, I know. We never really got around to cleaning this place out. My dad always wanted to park his speeder in here, but, obviously...he couldn't. I bet that what I'm looking for is in here, if not in his office."

"Would you like me to help?"

"I'd really appreciate it." Jason looked around at all the boxes, and the other miscellaneous pieces of junk that littered the wide space. Many of them carried fond memories of his childhood, and he longed to take many of them with him, but he knew he'd never be able to fit it all in the cramped cargo spaces that his speeder called a trunk. He knew there were at least three ancient hologame systems in there, with all the assorted games and controllers, that he would love to sit down and play in his spare time. Not to mention the annals of family history stored in who-knew how many boxes.

But, the latter was why he was here.

"Which do you want, garage or office?"

"I'll take the garage, if that's okay," Onna responded, moving towards the outward edge of the box pile.

"Alright. For time's sake, only tackle the boxes that you think would have a disk or cube or anything that might contain any of my family's history in it. If you need me, I'll be inside."

Jason hardly waited for her to answer before moving towards the wooden door that lead into the downstairs of the house. Turning the knob, he opened the door and looked into what, for all intents and purposes, was a clean house. There were the telltale signs of insect residency, though, but he just brushed through the webs with hardly a thought. He made his way for a small room just to the right of the stairs that came down from the front landing, that his father had used as his personal little office.

The first place he went was the small safe that was kept under the outward section of a wrap-around style desk. _Dad always kept his important information in there_. _But, I never learned what the combination was...fortunately for me, I have the Jedi lock pick_

Retrieving his lightsaber from its' holster, which he had moved around to his let side for the long drive, he thumbed it to life. The cobalt blade cast a deep blue hue to the room, and Jason used the continuous energy loop of the blade to cut the lock from the safe door. With a little telekinesis, the door opened easily, granting him with easy access to what lay inside.

He was a little surprised that the folders and data crystals inside weren't coated in a thick sheet of dust, but he then remembered that the inside of the safe was sealed off from the atmosphere outside. Stooping down, Jason reached in and filled his arms with the contents of the safe. He then set the files down on the desk and appropriated the plush office chair that his father had once sat in.

Most of the files were simple flimsiplast records of vehicle purchases and registrations, along with a few records of medical information, which included Jason's birth certificate. He held the little piece of flimsi in his hands, reading the information on it before sticking it in a jacket pocket.

_Nothing here I really need,_ he thought, placing the documents back inside the safe. It was almost futile, he thought, closing the now-unlockable door and standing again. Making his way for the stairs, he climbed them carefully, not sure of the stability of the long-neglected wood steps. They creaked faintly under his feet, as they always had, and he decided that he could progress without much caution.

At the top of the double-back staircase, he found himself on the floor that housed the livingroom, diningroom, kitchen and the two bedrooms. The livingroom was strewn with broken glass, and a few projectiles laid within the mess. Out of curiosity, Jason headed for the kitchen. There, he opened the conservator, and was welcomed with the rank stench of rotten food. He grimaced and covered his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, and peered in at the spoiled contents. All the vegetables, meat and dairy had gone bad, with the only possible exception being the gallon jug of blue milk. The stuff was known to last for quite a while, but he wasn't sure if roughly ten years was beyond the liquid's refrigerated shelf life.

Shutting the door, he shook his slightly and moved down the hall. At the end, he peeked inside the master bedroom, were his father and, even longer ago, his mother had slept. Stepping inside, he went to the drawers that were hidden underneath the bed frame and started rifling through them. Again, he didn't find anything of any real import to his current mission, but he did find a ton of old holophotos that he started to flip through.

The sheer weight of the family history in those pictures almost made him take them all. They were photos of his mother and father before he was born, enjoying their early married years and even the time they were dating before tying the knot. His mother was truly beautiful, and he was saddened that he hadn't grown up with her guidance. Judging by the simple joy in her smile and eyes, she must have been a truly amazing woman, with boundless love and patience.

_Maybe, if she hadn't died having me, I wouldn't have turned to the gang, the Empire, and now the Brotherhood. Maybe I would have grown up well-rounded, graduated from school with much better grades than I did...and, maybe, when the time came, even have trained with Luke and became a true Jedi._

But that was all wishful thinking, based in the regret of not being a better son and, pretty much, letting his family down by not respecting his father and remembering his mother. If his dad was still alive, he'd probably knock Jason upside the head, berate him for how he'd lived his life, and then he'd soften and talk to him about the decisions he'd made.

The uncertain crackling of wood at the other end of the hall jolted Jason from his revelry, and alerted him to the fact that the house wasn't as sound as he'd hoped. Grabbing a handful of the holos, he bolted down the hall and, bounding over the banister, landed softly with the aid of the Force beside the garage door. He could sense Onna's frustration in the room beyond, but she'd made a fair amount of progress in his absence. He could see that by, when he opened the door, that a good third of the boxes were outside the garage with the tops ajar, a sign that they'd been looked through.

"How goes things?" he asked, coming up on the Trianii's side.

"Oh, it goes," she replied, letting out an exasperated sigh and wiping her brow with the backside of a forearm. "I've gone through a few of the boxes, but I haven't found anything that seems all that important."

"That's okay, but we need to get out. I don't know how much longer this place will stand." His statement was underscored as a loud banging was head from somewhere in the direction of the kitchen, and a hail of dust fell from the ceiling.

"Right. I'll get a couple of my guys down here in a hover truck, and we'll get all this stuff out," Onna said, pulling out her comlink halfway through her sentence. She conversed with someone on the other end, her tone tense with worry.

"They'll be here in about ten minutes," she reported once she had stuffed the gadget back in a pocket.

"Good," Jason responded, his tone distracted as he started looking at all the junk in the garage. "I want to get as much of this stuff moved out into the driveway, in case the house gives way before your men get here."

"Sounds good." Almost in tandem, the two started grabbing boxes and moving them down the pavement, almost down to the sidewalk that crossed in front of the house. Their pace was dictated by the rumblings that traveled the length of the house, each noise giving them more cause to move even quicker. About six minutes into their operation, the telltale sound of an approaching police unit reached their ears. The siren blared a couple of times, alerting them to its' presence as a Corellian Security Force speeder rolled up to the sidewalk.

Jason's blood almost ran cold at the sight of the officer, thinking that he had been recognized by someone and turned in on old charges of vandalism, theft or anything else he had done in his teen years. Or maybe they had finally caught up to them with desertion charges, from the last time he'd been home and enlisted in the Corellian Army, just to tuck tail and run back to the Brotherhood.

As the officer climbed out, in his green CorSec uniform, Jason calmed himself and reached out into the Force, asking its' aid in this current, if not ultimately meaningless obstacle.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked, flashing a disarming smile and exuding peace and camraderie into the Force.

"Yeah, I got a call about you two hanging around this condemned house," CorSec answered, his hand resting instinctually on the handle of his blaster and taking a look at the boxes they had moved out of the house. Then his gaze darted between Jason and Onna, as if sizing them up, or trying to remember if he recognized them as having warrants for their arrest.

"Oh, this is my old childhood home," Jason said, casting a longing look back at the rickety house. "I just came back to see if there was anything left after I finally got word that my dad was dead. Try and make peace with it, and all."

"I understand," the officer said, his tone lightening in respect. His eyes flashed with suspicion, though, and Jason was worried that he'd been found. Images of imprisonment, trial, shame and the Brotherhood shunning him flashed through his mind.

_Wait,_ he thought, _they can only hold me for as long as _I_ let them...I'm a Dark Jedi, remember?_

"Well, carry on, sir. And my respects to your father's passing." With that, the officer just turned, got back in his speeder, and drove away. Jason was left there, standing in bewilderment. After a moment of staring at the fading taillights of the cop car, he turned to Onna, who was smirking smugly

"I still have _some_ of my powers left," she said, turning back to her work with a slight flick of her long feline tail.

It was about this time when a repulsor-driven van rolled up, and a pair of scraggly- looking males piled out. "Heard you needed a hand, Boss!" one exclaimed. He was human, Caucasian, and with a painful-looking tattoo on his hairless heard. It made him think of images he had seen of Lord Maul, and old apprentice of Palpatine.

"This way, boys," Onna called back, motioning to the still venerable stack of boxes. The two took right to it, gabbing one box each and carrying them into the back of the spacious cargo vehicle. The four of them made short work of the crates, getting almost all of them loaded in what seemed, to Jason at least, to be record time. It was all work, no one stopped to talk, and neither of the new arrivals even cast an assuming glance at Jason. He didn't recognize either, but that didn't surprise him: he _had_ been gone a long time, after all.

Just as the last of the boxes was hefted by one of Onna's minions, and calls of jubilation began to ring out from the four gathered humanoids, a loud and resounding crash echoed off the exterior walls of the other houses, as support beams gave way and the weight of the house came crashing down. Onna cried out in shock as her man was caught in the avalanche of wood and metal.

"Val!" That was his buddy, who went running towards the wreckage carelessly. Jason caught him with an invisible fist the Force.

"No! There's still stuff falling in there. You don't want to get caught in it too, do you?"

"But, he's trapped in there!"

"Don't worry. He's still alive, but afraid and hurt."

"Wha–how do you know that?"

"Just trust me." Jason began to walk up the driveway, eyes scanning the destroyed remains of his old home. Part of him wanted to burst out in tears at the loss of personal history, but the rest of him pushed him on, his duty at that moment to save that poor man's life.

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't try to save him," Onna said, her voice dripping with accusation. "After all, you Dark Jedi don't care for others, right?"

Jason turned towards her, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "I told you before, I'm not your everyday Dark Jedi. Believe it or not, I do care for others, and I only kill if I need to." He couldn't necesarily blame her for her tone and what she was thinking, after all: it was pretty apparent that Jedi of any breed hadn't been kind to her. But, given that she couldn't remember most of her life, he suspected that if was just some deep down, intrinsic mistrust of Force users. "Now, if you would, leave me to my work so I can save that man."

When she didn't voice any more objections, he turned his full attention to the devastation before him. Indeed, he could sense that Val was still alive, but pinned beneath tons of wreckage and sorely injured. Luckily for him, the house had fallen in such a manner that it had almost created a protective shield around his frail human body.

The Force was his ally, and Jason would use its' power to save Val. Reaching out, he felt the material around him, and he created a Force bubble around the man. He pushed the boundaries of the bubble outwards, moving whole sections of the wreckage. The absolute sheer weight of the rubble gave him trouble, but he gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. It was slow going, but Jason's determination would be the victor, not gravity. After what seemed hours of endless exertion, Jason finally created a hole big enough for a man to step through, and lifted Val out of the opening. Setting him down on the driveway, he let go of the bubble and let the wreckage settle again, eliciting a series of loud rumbles and crashes as more of the destroyed house shifted.

Onna immediately rushed to Val's side. He was scratched and bruised in many places, the tattered pieces of his clothing coated in the crimson shade of human blood. He was lucid, however, and kept telling her repeatedly that he was fine, but the worry on her face showed that she didn't believe him.

By this time, many of the residents of nearby houses were filtering out of their homes, coming to see what had happened. Many of them gasped and gapped at the destruction, and others who had arrived earlier were remarking about Jason. He turned his attention towards them, hearing them saying things like "Jedi," and "hero." Turning towards the gathered masses, glancing at them all. As he turned his emerald eyes on each person in turn, he watched as some of the older ones, people he recognized from when he lived there, allowed shock to show on their faces.

_They still think of me as a hellion,_ he thought. _Truth be told, not much as changed. Just now I have powers that they couldn't grasp, and I'm using them as I see fit, instead of running around harassing them all._

"Jason, we need to get him to the warehouse!" he heard Onna say, almost a yell. He turned back towards her and came up to her side, looking down at Val. He was indeed quite wounded, but nothing that would handicap or even kill him.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine," he said, squatting down on his knees beside Val. Holding his hands over him, fingers up and palms towards outwards, he closed his eyes and centered himself in the cool pool of the Force, and let it flow through him and into Val. Normally, the healing arts were something not usually taught by the trainers of the Dark Brotherhood, but it was a skill that he had begun learning at the Jedi Academy, and had trained himself to use it more effectively since then. It had come in handy a few times already, healing apprentices who had been almost mortally wounded during training–usually while learning how to use a lightsaber–and he was now turning his skills on the man before him.

The Force flowed through Val, its' healing waves concentrated by Jason's control. He focused on speeding the healing of his bleeding gashes, particularly the ones that would lead to infection and blood loss, and assisted the cells within Val's body to close off the openings. Within moments, most of the injuries had been repaired to a state which would more easily allow them to move him, and Jason opened his eyes and let out a deep sigh. It was a trying technique, and took much of Jason's concentration. Since most of his training had been spent focusing on the combat arts, healing was a little difficult for him to control.

"There, now let's get him into the truck and get back.."

Chapter Five In Progress!!


End file.
